


Can We Carry the Love That We Share (Mistel Me What You're Thinking Remix)

by PunkPinkPower



Category: Power Rangers Megaforce
Genre: Family, Gen, Holidays, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Outsider, Queer Families, Remix Redux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkPinkPower/pseuds/PunkPinkPower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one thing Helen regretted about her adolescence, it was never managing to talk sense into her unimaginative little sister.  </p><p>That’s what she thinks about the day Troy shows up on her doorstep, looking for all the world like he’s a lost little boy, and she’s a stranger in a supermarket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can We Carry the Love That We Share (Mistel Me What You're Thinking Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Revieloutionne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revieloutionne/gifts).



> I may have taken this in a really, really different direction than the original story, but I promise events from the story still happen, we just see them from afar.
> 
> I also want to just make a note about my usage of the word Queer. I identify as queer, and the reclamation of that word is important to me, personally. I feel as though my main character, who uses it several times throughout this, would have very. strong. opinions. about how and when it should be used, but she uses it because it's important to her. It is not meant to be interchangeable with the identities of gay, lesbian, or bi. I am not sure, from reading the original fic, how my author intended Troy to identify, and so I've left that fairly open- though Helen uses the terms gay and queer in relation to Troy several times. Just because he never corrects her does not mean that he identifies any of those ways.

If there was one thing Helen regretted about her adolescence, it was never managing to talk sense into her unimaginative little sister. 

That’s what she thinks about the day Troy shows up on her doorstep, looking for all the world like he’s a lost little boy, and she’s a stranger in a supermarket. 

She hasn’t seen her nephew in years, and never in person. Her slightly more liberal younger brother had emailed her some pictures of him years ago, back when his brown hair had gone every which way and he’d still been missing most of his teeth. 

She knows who he is, though, with one look. He has her sisters high cheek bones, a hurt, dead look in his eyes, and his hair is heavily gelled down in place, making her think if it wasn’t it would still be going in every direction. He’s carrying one green and grey duffle bag. 

How ironic.

“Well, Troy,” she says, opening the door to her house a little farther, and Troy’s eyes widen, “Why don’t you come on in.”

“You… know me?” Troy asks, and Helen nods, steps down off the entry step and takes the duffle out of Troy’s hands, and uses an arm to guide him into her house. 

“Oh honey,” she says, feeling bittersweet, “I’d know that look anywhere.”

***

“They never…” Troy stumbles, holding onto the teacup she’s given him with both hands, “Talked about you. Not until… the other day.”

“No,” Helen agrees, taking her own tea and sitting across from her nephew, “They wouldn’t talk to a young innocent boy about poor old queer Aunt Helen, I suppose. Troy, your mother and I haven’t spoken since I came out when I was 18. I was leaving anyway, using that same duffle bag you walked in with, and I looked at my family, my religious mother and father and my brainwashed siblings, and I said ‘Just thought you oughta know, I fuck women’,” Helen says, remembering the day fondly. Through his tears, Troy manages a tiny laugh. “And I went out on my own of my own accord, and mailed the duffle bag back when I was settled. Your uncle Henry kept in touch, more than the others, but only with a Christmas card every year, and pictures of you and your cousins when you were born.

“But honey,” Helen says, and she reaches out and puts a hand on Troy’s arm, and he flinches away a little, “What I did, that was my choice. And what’s happened to you, well. There isn’t anything in the world that can put that right, but I sure am gonna try. I’ve got a spare room upstairs, and it’s yours for as long as you want it. I’m no substitute for your mom, but we’re family, and I’ll do my best for you.”

Troy’s lip quivers. “You don’t even know me.” 

“I know enough!” Helen says, giving him a big smile. “I know there’s at least two of us in the family, which means they can’t call either one of us a fluke!”

Troy grins, and then he cries, and Helen hugs him until he can’t get out the sobs anymore. 

***

If she’s honest, she might be feeling a little selfish about Troy showing up. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to have family around, family you _cared_ about, someone to share your day with. She’d only ever gotten doses of that when she’d dated women with accepting families, but once the relationship was over the family was over for her, too (well, save for one ex-girlfriends mom whom she’d gotten along with better than any of the woman’s own children, and who still called every once in a while to check in on her). 

Troy is shy, and uncertain, and nothing like Helen was at that age. He has so much potential, but he’s been so afraid for so long that she thinks it’s gotten buried underneath all the fear. 

Still, there are things about him that are similar to her, too, the obvious one aside. Troy has an artistic side, even though it’s never been nurtured. He admires her art studio but refused for months to actually touch any of the paint or clay. 

He keeps his room neat and barren, like he doesn’t want to get attached to it, like it’s not really his, no matter how much Helen tries to assure him it is. But when he does put up posters, finally, they’re bright and multi colored, and they remind her of the light catchers in her own bedroom window. 

And Troy above all else is incredibly kind and courteous, always thinking about other people before himself, and maybe, she thinks, that’s how he makes friends so quickly at school. 

Because it does happen quickly, almost instantaneously, and suddenly he’s going everywhere and doing everything with these four young people, and Helen is thrilled. He’s adjusting here, she thinks, and _Hah_ , she wishes she could say to her sister, _you can’t keep a queer kid down for long_. 

And there’s even a day where he comes home with a funny look on his face, and at dinner Helen jokingly asks, “What, did you meet a boy?”

Troy scoffs, says, “No,” and then smiles into his spoonful of mashed potatoes. 

For all that it matters, Troy is incredibly self sufficient. He takes the bus to school most days, does his homework without Helen ever needing to remind him, and does his own laundry and any chores she happens to ask of him. She isn’t sure he’s comfortable here, not all the time, but she does feel like they understand each other, and it’s nice to be able to give something back, to help someone the way kind people helped her when she was young and queer and alone.

They cook together on Saturday nights, Helen teaching Troy all her best recipes, and then one Friday afternoon he wonders if he can have some friends over the next night. 

“Sure,” Helen says, grinning, “Thanks for asking, but you don’t have to. Your friends are always welcome here.” 

So Troy comes home with four loud and happy kids Saturday afternoon, and Helen doesn’t catch any of their names between the silly introductions they make for each other and the laughter, but she doesn’t mind. She and Troy make dinner for them, and the girl in the yellow jacket helps set the table, and the one with glasses gets everyone drinks. 

They’re all incredibly polite, and it’s clear how much they care about Troy. They’re honest with him, they make him laugh, and Helen approves wholeheartedly. 

They lock themselves up in Troy’s room after dinner, laughing and listening to music, and Helen sits downstairs watching the latest Power Ranger news with a smile on her face. 

***

One day in early November, Troy comes home in a panic. 

Pacing back and forth in the living room, running hands through his hair and messing it up, Helen finally gets him to tell her what’s wrong. 

“My friends,” Troy says, stopping to face her, “They’re starting a GSA at school.”

Helen thinks she’s supposed to know what that is, but she’s never been good with acronyms, so holding her hands in front of her bracingly she asks, “Alright, what is a GSA?”

Troy looks annoyed. “A Gay Straight Alliance club at school.” 

Helen pauses, considering. A gay club? Well that was… progressive, for a public school. The term sounds more familiar now, though she had imagined it would have had more to do with space travel for some reason, and she can’t place why. “A Gay Straight Alliance. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No!” Troy says, throwing himself into the armchair and putting his face in his hands. “They’re going to want me to go! What if… what if they find out about me?”

Helen’s jaw drops. “You mean, you’re friends, you haven’t told them?” 

“No! Why would I?” Troy says, “I like them, and I want them to stay my friends.”

“Troy,” Helen says, crossing her arms defiantly, “Not everyone you know is going to abandon you when they find out you’re gay. I know you’re mom and dad did some damage to you in that regard, but I’ve met your friends and more than one of them comes off reading a little queer to me. Are you sure they don’t already know?” 

“How could they?” Troy asks, the color sinking out of his face, “I’ve never told them.”

“Honey,” Helen says bracingly, sitting down in the chair across from him, “Sometimes you don’t have to tell people for them to know. People who really care about you, who are open minded like your friends seem to be, sometimes they’ll know whether you tell them or not.” 

“I just…” Troy says, sounding calmer, “A GSA? I can’t do anything right here. If I don’t go, they’ll know something is up and they’ll ask questions. And if I go, what if they ask me whether I am or not? What do I say?”

Helen takes a deep breath. “You know, the first group of people I hung out with in college, they were almost all queer. But none of us ever asked each other what we were, because that’s not something any of us needed to know. And when we did talk about it, it was because we initiated the conversation. Troy, if you’re friends are starting this GSA, then they’re probably all okay with people being gay. Some of them might be gay or bi themselves. I don’t think they’ll outright ask you, and even if they do, how you answer is up to you.”

“You think I’m being ridiculous,” Troy says, with a sad smile, “That I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”

“I think,” Helen says, and then hesitates. “I think you’re a lot like your mom. You got a lot of stubbornness in you and once you get afraid of something it’s hard for you to come around.”

Troy processes that for a long time while they sit there, and finally Helen gets up and heads back into her studio. She puts on her apron and grabs her spar, and goes back out into the living room where Troy is still sitting. 

“Come on,” she says, tossing the apron at him, “You wanna throw some clay onto the pottery wheel for me?”

Troy hesitates, and then says, “Yeah, I would, actually.” 

***

So Troy goes to the GSA meetings with all of his friends, but he doesn’t say anything at them, he says. It turns out quite a few kids from school join the club, and Troy’s friend Gia is the president. 

But whenever Helen asks about them, Troy just gives short answers. 

It’s alright with her that he’s not comfortable being out yet. He’d been outed by someone back home, which is how he’d ended up here in the first place, and when the only experiences you’ve had with your sexuality have been negative ones, that tends to have an effect. 

It’s harder for Helen, because so many of her experiences have been positive, and she’s convinced, absolutely convinced, that Troy’s friends are the kind of ones that keep you, no matter what you tell them. She’s pretty certain that they’ll make him come round eventually, and she ends up being righter about that then she thought. 

Troy comes home one night sullen and remorseful, and locks himself in his room. He refuses dinner, and won’t tell Helen what the matter is. But she finds out soon enough. 

The next day, she gets a call from one of Troy’s friends. Gia, the one with the blonde hair and the righteous demeanor. 

“I was just wondering,” Gia says over the phone, “If Troy had said anything to you about the Christmas party last night.”

Christmas party? “Not a word,” Helen tells her, and she finds herself glancing at the Christmas card from her brother on the mantle, “But I imagine something must have happened to upset him.”

“Yeah,” Gia says, her voice sounding apologetic, “That was my fault.” 

And so it’s with a little reservation that Helen lets Troy’s friends bring the boy with a crush on him over to apologize. She hopes Troy can see past his own experiences and find the welcoming community that is being offered to him on a silver platter, but then, for all the credit she gives him, he is still just a kid, and kids are allowed to make mistakes. 

“Troy,” Helen says, knocking on his door. “Let me in, please.” 

Troy shifts in his room, and then opens the door for her. Helen goes in, takes a look around. “My, my,” she says, picking up one of the little figurines on Troy’s book shelf, “This room certainly has changed.”

Troy follows her gaze, and he looks a little uncertain. “I guess it has,” he agrees. 

“It feels like yours,” Helen says, grinning at the fact that the bed is unmade and books are open on his desk, “Don’t you think?” 

Troy nods. “You’re being strangely cryptic.” 

Helen gives him a grin and a little wrinkle of her nose. “There’s a boy downstairs to see you, and I think you oughta talk to him.” 

Troy’s brow furrows. “Who is it?” 

“His name’s Jordan,” Helen says easily, “I think you know him.” 

“A little bit,” Troy agrees, and he sighs. 

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now,” Helen says, turning to him and putting both hands on his shoulders, “But there are far scarier things in this world than talking to a boy you like about the fact that you like him.”

Troy laughs, and there’s actual mirth in his eyes, like he’s so very, very aware of that fact. “I know.” 

Then he reaches over and wraps his arms around her, pulling his aunt into a tight hug. Helen hugs him back, this boy of hers, who showed up on her doorstep scared and alone, who has made himself a life and a family without even knowing it. He’s been so, so lucky, luckier than most, and suddenly Helen is so glad she got to see it. 

“Alright, come on now,” she says, before she starts to get emotional, “Let’s not keep him waiting.” And she gently pushes Troy from his room. 

“I’ll leave the two of you alone,” she says, giving Jordan a smile and Troy’s shoulder a quick squeeze before walking into the kitchen. 

She tries not to listen, really, she does. She doesn’t hear all of it, but some of it she can’t help overhearing, and if she has to lift a hand to her own eye when she hears Troy break down and fall into the arms of his friend—maybe more than his friend, now—well. 

At least his friend had been there to catch him. 

***

In spring, Harwood County holds a big celebration after the rebuilding. Helen had always thought she’d moved to a city with a long and unremarkable enough name to avoid being a Power Ranger city, but, she supposes she doesn’t mind. It certainly is good for community building. 

Troy and his friends have done quite a lot to help out, and Helen buys them all frozen yogurts so they can take a break for a while. She chats with Emma’s parents a bit, and with the strange science teacher of Troy’s. 

Then Troy comes over and saves her, and they link arms as they walk away. 

“You know, I never thanked you, for all that you did for me,” Troy says casually, and Helen looks over at him. 

“You don’t have to, sweetheart. I’d do it all again,” Helen tells him honestly, and Troy nods like he knows. “That’s what family is.” 

“There’s something I want to do,” Troy says, lifting his head defiantly, “And I need your help.” 

***

They wait in the short post office line for a while, the empty green and grey duffle bag in Troy’s hands. 

He’s calm, and he looks resolute, and happy, though he isn’t very talkative. 

When they get to the counter, Troy patiently fills out the shipping information, and they watch the post office attendant pack the duffle into a white plastic bag and tape it up. He slaps the shipping address on it, and Troy pays the amount, and then the duffle goes in the out bin, and they walk away. 

Troy breathes a sigh of relief as they walk out the doors, and Helen wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

“You alright?” Helen wonders, and Troy nods, smiles over at her, and wraps an arm around her shoulders in return. 

“Yeah,” Troy says, “I’m good. Let’s go home.” 

Helen smiles, gives Troy a squeeze, and the two of them hold onto each other all the way home.


End file.
